Follow Me Back Into The Sun
by LeaveMeHypnotized
Summary: Apocafic. Derek lets his humane side win for once and it ends in a disaster. AU, but some things never change. Will eventually contain various characters from GA and PP. Addek, Maddison, Maddek centric.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** This story has been in my head for a long time now and it's an experiment, really. Some of it is very AU, some of it isn't, and there will be many characters from the Shondaverse, but sometimes differently than you might think. If you don't like the sound of that, stop right here. If you trust me when I say there are not gonna be aliens and if you're not afraid of the apocalypse, read on:)

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><p><strong>Follow Me Back Into The Sun<strong>

**- Prologue -**

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><p>His steps on the dusty PVC floor coating clang through the corridor and he tries to blind out the occasional cadavers lying against the walls as well as the rotten fetidness they radiate. He makes the mistake of looking directly into a room only once and bows down, resting his hands on his knees, and takes a few deep breaths through his mouth, forcing the little amount of food he had for breakfast to stay in for digestion.<p>

The early spring's sun illuminates the grey and white emptiness in a macabre kind of way, scornful as if wanting to show him how insignificant everything he once valued really is. The sun will keep shining even when everything else is gone. How foolish was the human race, how arrogant to think it could modify a nature that existed long before the first mammal set foot onto the earth. Every overpopulation finds a way to eliminate itself, one way or the other...

He shivers at the thought, feeling the cold metal of his gun in the back of his jeans hard against his skin. One way or the other. A pistol it is. Morphine or other narcotics have crossed his mind, but only shortly. He prefers to be the guy who kills himself the way his father was murdered to being the guy who kills himself with narcotics other people might still need in some way. And he ignores the question that pops up in his head. _What other people?_ This hospital is most likely out of medicine anyway and he is too tired to try the safe.

Suddenly hearing the rustling noise of papers moving on the ground, ex-files of patients reminding of a time when they had still a spare moment for paperwork or alive patients, his fingers get a hold of the gun automatically in an instant. Someone's here, someone else, and probably not that far away from him. For a moment he thinks about shooting himself immediately, sparing the other one the trouble to either kill him or be the live audience of a suicide, but the remaining doctor-parts in him tell him to look if the other one's okay first.

He slides along the wall into the main corridor, stepping over a dead man his age, and almost drops dead himself, adrenaline rushing unhealthily fast through his body, as he sees her.

Her hair is short and dirty and her muddy clothes, jeans and lumberjack shirt that is, aren't only more than uncharacteristic, but even flabbier than men clothes normally are on her. Her high cheekbones peek out of her face while her big eyes seem even bigger, yet sunken somehow, and her neck is so thin that her vertebrae are visible through the skin. There is no reason on earth for him to recognize her so soon and radically and he can't tell if it's the way she stares at the OR board or the faint reddish shimmer in her hair that gives her away, or just something about her presence in general. But as soon as she comes into his view he knows and the magnitude of it almost wipes him off his feet.

He wants to laugh and cry and do so many things to prove to himself that this isn't just another damn dream, but as soon as she turns to him he condemns these thoughts, because there it is, his _proof_.

She wipes the blood off her nose with the firm sleeve of her shirt and his arms are just fast enough to catch her as she falls unconsciously to the ground.

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><p><strong>AN: **Okay, how did it come to this, huh? And what's going on? Excited? Then keep reading:)


	2. Chapter 1: Blues

**Follow Me Back Into The Sun**

**- Chapter 1: Blues -**

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><p>She's sitting alone at their table in the cafeteria, raking around in the hospital gunk in front of her, rather concentrated on checking her e-mails on her blackberry. It's around lunchtime and it's loud and she has a headache and when Derek calls she thinks about ignoring it just to make the noise stop. She knows what he's going to say anyway.<p>

"What?" It's not a nice way to pick up, but whatever. It's not nice to cancel dinner via cellphone either and that he's only a few floors away doesn't make it better. She hears the kitchen trays clatter in the background.

"I'm sorry, Addie, I can't make it tonight."

"Well, this is something new."

"Stop with the bitchiness, okay? It's not as if I have a choice -"

"Oh, come on, Derek, there's always a choice. Are you at least sleeping at home tonight?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"Fine. See you around then." She presses him away before he can add anything and fights the urge to smash her blackberry against the opposite wall. Despite occasionally crossing each other on the hospital floors she hasn't really seen him for five days. Five. He doesn't even know that she's wearing the blue dress today...

"Hey." Mark sets his tray on the table, pulls out a chair and sits down in front of her. "Why are you glaring at me?"

She shakes her head and sighs. "I'm not glaring at anyone."

"Really? See that intern over there? He looks pretty frightened to me."

She manages a weak smile. "Yeah, well, but not because of me."

He chuckles, turning to his food and Addison is glad that at least one of them can still be humorous about this. Not that he isn't concerned, she can see that in his face. He knows that they have problems, better than anyone perhaps, as he is always the one somehow getting in the middle of it.

He looks up from his mashed potatoes. "So how is the crack-baby?"

She grins even though she doesn't like the way he says it. It's nice to know that someone actually listens to her when she talks about her day. Makes her also feel kind of guilty though. She has no idea what he is currently working on. "Better," she says and he nods, pushing his tray away from him.

"This is not eatable."

She snorts. "I know. Wanna come to dinner with me later? Derek's cancelled, but we still have the reservations, so..."

It wouldn't be the first time he's filling in, hell no, but usually Derek's the one asking him to. Always the best friend, that's probably why he hesitates for a moment. She is about to excuse herself for asking, she doesn't want him to pick sides, when he nods slowly.

"Yeah, of course. Derek's busy in the lab again?"

Her pager goes off and she jumps up. "I gotta go." Still, before she does, she purses her lips and adds, "I don't care what he's busy with. He's gonna regret this."

"See you later," Mark calls after her and she raises a hand as an answer as she walks out of the cafeteria, high heels hitting a forceful rhythm on the ground. It feels good to know sometimes that everyone is watching her. It hurts to know all the time that her husband isn't part of this generalization.

XXXXX

He is the last one in the lab, as always, but he's been repairing people's brains in the OR all day and this is important to him too, so it's easy to accept the late hours.

He checks on the rats and keeps the minutes and is satisfied with the results so far. At first it was weird to do a trial in a team of neurologists and Alzheimer's experts, he usually can't stand them, but there are five of them all in all and they take turns, so he doesn't have to cope with them too often. What bothers him far more is that they couldn't get a better equipped lab for this. The chief doesn't believe in any success. He puts all the money in neonatal at the moment. Derek involuntarily snorts at the thought and knows that he should feel guilty, but he doesn't. Yes, only eight other people in the world can do what she does... He's tired of it.

The light flickers and he's not surprised. In case of a blackout this lab is not connected to the emergency generator and it's almost winter. Incoming trouble is as sure as his wife's hair is red, he's certain of that. Luckily, he was just about to leave anyway.

He puts his protocol into the right file and clips his pen to his lab coat, throws a last controlling look towards the rats and leaves the room. On his way to the elevator his blackberry buzzes in his scrubpants' pocket and he represses a sigh when he reads the name on the screen. Addison.

"Hmm?" Not as bad as her _What?_ ten hours earlier he thinks.

"I just wanted to say good night," she says in a small voice that makes him smile against all odds. "I'm not sorry for what I said earlier though, just so you know." Naturally.

"Good night, Addison."

"Listen, Derek," and he puts the phone to his ear again, "I was thinking that we could take a few days off after Christmas and go somewhere, you know, after visiting your mom?"

"Okay."

"_Okay_? I was thinking about packing rudimentary pyjamas and all."

He chuckles and tone gets a little softer. "Yeah, that sounds very nice. I'll see what I can do to get the days off, all right?"

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise that I'll try." She represses a sigh at this one and he knows it's a stupid answer, but he doesn't want to make promises he can't keep. Just when he reaches the elevator, he realizes a flickering in the corner of his eye. The light in the lab, _damn it_! He is sure he's turned it off.

"I gotta go, Addison, someone's in the lab." He takes long steps back into the corridor he just went through. "Good night. I miss you," he murmurs half-heartedly and makes it sound as if she was on the other side of the continent. Whatever.

"Good night," a sad voice says in his hand, he's taken the phone off his ear again, and he hangs up hastily, stuffing it back into his pocket.

"Dr Hansen," he almost pants, as he reaches the lab. There is not much time left for sports when you either have to work or deal with your wife. He is relieved though, Hansen is in the team with him. "I'm sorry, I just saw the light and thought maybe an intern wanted to -" he stops as he catches sight of several syringes in the man's one hand and an open bag in the other. "Hansen, what are you doing?" His tone is as neutral as possible. They don't know each other very well, but Hansen is as well-respected in the field as he is and he doesn't want to draw heady conclusions.

Dr Hansen looks at him for a moment, his facial expression turning from caught to angry. Then his shoulders drop and he slumps forward a bit and, sighing, he meets Derek's eyes with a certain amount of self-pity and hopelessness in his own.

"I need them, okay?" He holds up his hand with the syringes. "My wife's Alzheimer's is getting worse and there is nothing anyone can do about it." Wild gesturing stops Derek from interrupting him. "Look, Shepherd, I know. I know these are experimental and we have no proof of their impact yet, but the rats are fine, aren't they?" He points to the small cages and chuckles nervously.

"They are rats, Hansen, no humans. The im -"

"Exactly," Hansen breaks in, "how can we ever be sure of our achievements if we don't make tests on real patients? My wife can be the first patient!"

"We will do that, when we're ready, Hansen. We just got started. When that gets into your wife's bloodstream, she could die or even worse -"

"I already have the worst, Shepherd!" Hansen's yelling now and Derek wishes that the lab wasn't so far away from everything else in this hospital, so someone could hear them and help him with this.

"Do you know what it's like to live with someone who doesn't recognize you any more? Who doesn't even recognize her own kids? She is 53, for god's sake, and about to become a grandmother and all she can do is stare into space while her fucking nanny reads fucking _Harry Potter_ to her. When she calls me Harry I don't know if she means me, Harold, her husband, or a stupid fictional wizard-boy. That's what my life is like while you and the missus sneak into on-call rooms between surgeries. Believe me, even _your_ wife wouldn't be so hot any more if Alzheimer's was demolishing her brain! God dammit, my Lizzy used to be a lawyer!"

Derek shivers as he watches the broad-shouldered man in front of him burst into irate tears. Hansen is not here as a doctor, but as a loving husband desperately searching for something that can bring his wife back to him, so much is obvious. _We're so lucky_, he thinks and feels guilty for usually being so unaware of that. Neither he nor Addison have ever been seriously ill and as doctors they should know that this could change any minute. Yet lately they spend all the time they have together with fighting over work and the most banal things. He doesn't know when Hansen watched them _sneaking into on-call rooms_ together, but it sure as hell wasn't within the last two months.

He slowly drives a hand through his hair. No matter how annoying she can be, his life would be incomplete without Addison's pouty phone-calls in the middle of the night, her cold toes against his legs at least once in a while, her laughing and her teasing and her professional bossiness at the hospital.

_I don't know, sweetheart, rich girls like her – they can be real heart-breakers._

_She isn't just a rich girl, Mom. You don't even know her._

That was the only time he was ever even remotely rude to his mother since his father had died and it meant a lot to him. He fought for the woman he loved. Loves. Hansen fights for the the woman he loves.

He takes a deep breath. "Take four."

Hansen looks up, somewhat shocked. "What?"

"Take four syringes. Give her an injection once a week and keep the minutes on her. You tell me every slightest change in her behaviour, good or bad, bring her in for scans and after a month we decide if it's worth it."

"Thank you." Hansen stumbles toward him, offers to shake on it, but Derek ignores his hand.

"Don't thank me yet. This stays between us, but if anything happens without you telling me I will personally report you to the police. Plus, if this turns out to be a success, we will call it the _Shepherd_-Method."

Hansen nods eagerly, mumbling _thank you, thank you_, like a broken record and Derek isn't sure if he will ever be able to respect this man again. All he can feel is deep and honest sympathy.

After he's made sure that Hansen takes only the four syringes they agreed on, they leave the lab together and Derek brings the other man to his car, thinking that this will underline his seriousness.

His knees shake a little as he watches him drive into the night. He hopes not to support a murder here.

XXXXX

Addison's sleepily warm body shifts automatically towards his, like a magnet, and she sighs dozily as she feels his stubbly chin against her shoulder.

"Watcha doin here?" she slurs and he chuckles at her sleepy voice, then lets her turn around in his embrace. She looks at him through small, yet nonetheless suspicious eyes and is instantly more awake. Her hand brushes over his cheek and she clears her throat with more effort than success.

"Honey, did something happen?" she croaks and he wishes she didn't know him so well. Or is it so surprising that he wants to spend the night here, is that it?

"No," he lies and kisses her intensely, aware that there is only one _secure_ method to distract her, before she asks more. He could tell her, he could, he's told her all his secrets, but he still remembers the look on her face after what happened with Sam's pedophile patient. Of course she told him, because _he_'s not one to distract with sex when she comes home upset. And the way she was looking at Sam the next time they saw him made him wish he didn't know. He can't really describe it, but he sure as hell doesn't want her to look at him that way.

So he just keeps kissing her, sliding a hand under her shirt after a little while and letting it wander south after a little while longer.

It's not all about distraction tough; he has seen her wearing that blue dress today.

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><p><strong>AN: **Any opinions so far? :)


	3. Chapter 2: Family

**Follow Me Back Into The Sun**

**- Chapter 2: Family -**

"You're on time!" she says not without a teasing pitch in her voice, despite her surprise that he is actually on the tick for their appointment with Sheldon. He asked them to call him Sheldon, even though Addison would prefer Dr Wallace. It's hard for her to respect shrinks in the first place and calling them by their first name doesn't help.

"I am, I know," he lifts a bragging eyebrow and pecks her cheek. It's an achievement, really, because he dislikes shrinks, inclusively Kathleen, even more than she does.

_It's normal to see a therapist from time to time, Derek. This is America. First World problems rule. And, if you let me, I can recommend lots of people that are better than Amelia's or Mark's therapists, because, believe me, you don't want to spend 400$ an hour for nothing._

They went to the therapist his sister sent them to only once, finding that they were both too distracted by her differently sized eyes to get into it. Kathleen said it's a shame that they are too childish to fight for their marriage and that they should look for someone in the Vogue then. Yes, they did feel bad.

After the first fiasco Mark recommended his therapist, but they secretly agreed that Kathleen had a point with what she'd said about the money-success-proportions and Sheldon came into the picture. Sheldon is like a shrink-prototype and yet somehow very different. He is short and seems practical and wears his cortex on the right side. He is probably about their age, but his hair and his dark-grey or -blue suits make him appear a bit older and, one of the times when they were waiting for Derek, he told Addison that he'd originally wanted to become a surgeon too. If not for his profession he is at least personally very likeable.

They have seen him six times during six months. Derek was late for every single appointment and Addison left earlier two times, because she was mad at him for being late. So, no, it's not Sheldon's fault that everything's still the same.

Derek sits down next to his wife on the cushiony couch in the ante room, peeking over her shoulder into some old issue of the – he moves her hand up to see the cover – National Geographic. A woman three seats away from them is browsing through a magazine with the Hilton girl on the cover.

"Geek," he whispers, but a slowly raising eyebrow is the only answer he gets and he takes a look at his watch.

"You have to be somewhere?" she asks immediately and almost provocatively without looking up from her article.

"No," he answers innocently. He has to visit Dr Hansen in two hours.

Sheldon appears at the door to his office and holds it open for them until they get in and sit down on another even cushionier couch. The first time they were here Derek was afraid he wouldn't be able to get up from the hemming furniture again. It forces its occupants to meet in middle, which is very clever and practical. Very – _Sheldonesk_.

"Long time no see," Sheldon jokes and Derek repressed an eye-roll. Addison thinks they make him nervous, that's why he always starts like this. Derek thinks he is still a shrink and he doesn't like him.

"So, Derek, you are here already. Why is that?" It's an honest question that has the potential to sound very discriminating and yet the way Sheldon asks it is Swiss-neutral and of course makes Addison fight with a sarcastic comment.

To his own surprise the inviolable coolness many people, especially other, _real_ doctors, acquire in the presence of a therapist dies down a little and he is more honest than he's planned. "Addison is important to me, I love her, and this is important to her, so, well – marriage is about sa–, compromise isn't it?" He throws Sheldon a superior smirk, which is more than faked, because he feels his wife's intense gaze on him, one of the kind that almost always makes him become just Derek, the geeky med school student, again.

"How do you feel about that, Addison?" Sheldon reveals no sign of surprise about Derek's answer and Addison casts her eyes away from her husband to the astonishingly feisty man in front of them and clears her throat.

"About what? _That_ he's here or _why_ he's here or his opinion about our marriage?" Her tone is not as bored as she's intended it to be, so she looks at her nails to underline her opinion of _How do you feel about that-_questions.

"Whatever you feel is bothering you the most."

She sighs, but Sheldon keeps his balance as if he was a synonym for it. He knows his game and it's hard but she accepts that. She knows her game in the OR too. "First of all this is not – well, it _is_ important to me, but – isn't this important to you too?" Her head turns to Derek again. "And you wanted to say _sacrifice_, didn't you?"

"What?"

"You wanted to say marriage is about _sacrifice._" She lifts a provocative eyebrow.

"Why, yes, but not -"

"Fine, what _did_ you sacrifice recently? Just tell me one occasion within the last year when _you_ had to change _your_ plans because of _me_!"

"Okay, would you calm down, because I'm not talking to you when you're like this."

She snorts and shakes her head at Sheldon, which is weird somehow, because it's usually Mark or empty space. However, other than Mark or empty space Sheldon knows how to intervene as a professional. He writes something quick on his notepad and coughs discretely.

"Derek, if you don't mind, I have the feeling that we're onto something here." He nods expectantly in the other man's direction, who takes a deep unnerved breath.

"Addison decided to do her fellowship just when -"

"And look who rolls out the old chestnut again!" Addison interrupts him fiercely with a sarcastic smile on her lips and Sheldon's eyes fly searchingly from one to the other.

"It was a big deal for me!"

"Yeah, well, it was years ago, Derek. You still punish me for that? Seriously? I say my career is more important _for now_ and you decide yours is more important _for good_?"

Derek opens his mouth, but Sheldon holds out a hand to shush him. "More important than what?" he asks carefully, while the couple on the couch keeps glaring at each other.

"We talked about – having children, but Addison decided for the fellowship," Derek says finally, his voice quieter than before.

"I just wasn't ready then, okay? I never said that I don't want kids with you."

Derek lets out a dry, humourless chuckle. "Just not now, right?"

Addison's eyes sparkle with a hint of sadness. "Actually, hypothetically, I would be ready now." She looks down at her nails again and Sheldon draws in a sharp breath, forgetting himself for a moment, but really just for a moment.

Derek stares at his wife surprised, yet not without accusation in his tone. "Then why didn't you say anything?"

"_Because_, Derek, you are working all the time. You're never there when I want to talk," her voice quivers and she knows that Sheldon winces at her bunch-use of extremes, but she just ignores him. "I want to have children with you, I really do, I just – I don't want them to be raised by the annually changing nanny and that's what it's gonna be like when we're both working as much as we do now!"

Of course she doesn't want that. Years ago Archer made a joke that once he had explained to her what was going on with their father and the nannies he didn't have to put up with her crying when they left any more.

_From that moment on she was like a miniature Bizzy to them, right Addie?_

_I was never like Bizzy._

Derek runs his fingers through his hair in one quick motion, just concentrates on in- and exhaling for a minute to clear his mind as if he was in the OR. Addison purses her lips, pouting, and Sheldon looks as if he is scared to say something that will ruin this session's achievements. Maybe Addison is right, maybe they do make him nervous.

Derek takes her hand, the one with the rings he put on it because that's the one on his side, and squeezes it softly, causing her to lift her gaze, and he represses a sigh. Something in him always responds when she's pouting like that. Some caveman protection instinct or something that binds their brilliant brains, he doesn't know. But she's probably aware of it too, he thinks with a hidden grim smirk.

"All right," he turns to Sheldon, "why don't we end this here and Addison and I can talk _privately_ about this?" It's obvious that Sheldon fights with a comment on the stressed _privately. Everything that's said in this room stays in this room,_ he said at the beginning of their first session. He is a professional, he wouldn't ramble about his patients outside of this office. Whatever, Derek thinks. He's still a shrink.

Sheldon keeps his thoughts to himself, as well as his scribbled down notes, naturally, and just raises an eyebrow at Addison to see if she is okay with that. She just ignores him and gets up from the couch, relieved that she can finally leave this place. Sheldon wants to add something as they haste out of his office, but a woman who has obviously a serious argument with at least two of her multiple personalities gets in his way.

_Hail to the freaks_, Derek thinks.

They don't speak until they're on the street outside of the rather new building Sheldon shares with three other _doctors_, naturopaths for all they know, and a law firm.

Addison shivers in the cool air of early November and Derek rubs her arms out of a habit when he notices. Then he brings his hands up to her rosy cheeks and pulls her into a kiss, that is rather borderline for a street kiss, and she opens her eyes only slowly when it's over.

People always say that they are such a bragging couple, always showing off how good they are together, but that is not true actually. It's the others that have always shown them off at parties and other events or just privately among family and friends.

_These are Addison and Derek from med school, the ones I told you about...? _

_I wish I was in a relationship like this. You're so perfect for each other._

_Oh come on, stop with the excuses, we know why you're late. Seven years together and still doing it every chance you get, huh?_

_This is Dr Shepherd and his wife Dr Montgomery Shepherd. Yeah, I know what you think, either love them or hate them, right?_

It's been mostly the others that have made them special and few things are more sobering than coming to this conclusion when things get rough. Yes, he pecks her cheek when he sees her in the hospital, sometimes even her mouth, sometimes she brushes through his hair or he tucks an auburn strand behind her ear, sometimes they disappear into an on-call room together, but that's it. That's all that happens publicly. At least most of the time...

"What was that for?" Her eyes flutter in positive surprise.

He shrugs and grins satisfied and gives her one of these rare gazes that tell her that he cares. "Just felt like it." He pulls his buzzing blackberry out of the pocket of his long brown coat and takes an intense look at it. "I gotta go, domiciliary. We'll talk later, okay?"

She furrows her brows, sensing something. "Since when do you take house-calls?"

"Doesn't matter. I'll be home in time, I promise." He places a quick kiss on her lips and they take cabs in opposite directions.

XXXXX

Hansen is already waiting when Derek arrives. He lives in Queens, uncommon for a person of his salary grade but not unique. Sometimes Derek thinks that the brownstone is too big for two people, having kids wouldn't change much size-wise, but then he thinks about the mansion Addison grew up in back in Connecticut and guesses that she would feel imprisoned in anything smaller than their house. Besides, he would miss the view on Central Park and they have lived there for years now, collecting things that wouldn't fit anywhere else.

The other doctor is not alone, which, he will gauge in retrospect, is pure calculation. Hansen's daughter is there, obviously the one having their first grandchild, and a man, who could be the father or Hansen's son if he has one, Derek isn't sure. All he knows instantly is that the whole thing is not just between the two of them any more and he doesn't like it.

Hansen sees the look on his face as their walk through the occupied living-room to the bedroom, where his wife seems to be.

"I couldn't not tell them, Shepherd, and when you see her you'll know why. We've all been hoping and praying and..." his voice trails off as they arrive not in the bedroom, but, to Derek's surprise, apparently in his wife's office.

"Here she is," he gestures at his wife, who is sitting at a heavy desk with her back to him, fully dressed, her greyish brown hair in a professionally looking updo, and seemingly browsing through files of ex-clients. It's not unusual for Alzheimer's patients to relive certain episodes of their lives. This doesn't mean anything and Hansen should know that.

"Lizzy, honey?" he's walked over to her and squeezes her shoulder somewhat proudly. "This is Derek Shepherd. He works on the drug with me."

What does mean something is what Derek sees when the woman on Hansen's side turns around to face him. Her clear eyes scan him as if she has heard of him before, as if she recognizes something her husband's already told her. There is no doubt that she is as aware of this moment as everybody else in this room, it's rather questionable whether she's ever suffered from Alzheimer's in the first place. Derek counts back in his head. If Hansen did everything as he was told this has to be the effect of only the first injection. One injection and the gaze lying on him is almost as piercing as his wife's an hour ago. And nobody can really top Addison with that anyway.

"Elizabeth Hansen. Nice to meet you, Dr Shepherd." She stands up from her executive chair, offering him a hand and he reaches out to take it slowly, still not believing what is happening here.

Hansen puts an arm around his wife's waist. "She's been lucid since this night. I gave her the injection three days ago and nothing changed, so I wasn't hoping for any results so soon. But then this night she just woke me up asking why I was sleeping on the couch instead of our bed. I had to tell our kids, of course, and Ruthie and Andrew came right over to see for themselves. It's a miracle Shepherd. It's a freaking miracle." He pecks Elizabeth's cheek, not able to look away from her for a second.

Something is not right, Derek thinks and at the same time curses himself for being so negative. But if he's learned something over the years it's that things going on in the human brain aren't as easy as this. They can't be. They aren't. They just aren't.

He feels a delicate hand on his shoulder. It's Ruthie's he assumes and he's right. Tears sparkle in her eyes, her lips are caught in a frail, amazed, but also fearful smile. "You did good. I didn't dare to hope, but now maybe my son will have a grandmother after all."

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><p><em><strong>Reviews are love:)<strong>_


	4. Chapter 3: Revelations

**Follow Me Back Into The Sun**

**Chapter 3: Revelations **

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><p>Even though Elizabeth Hansen's scans are clean and good and <em>revolutionary<em>, as her husband says, Derek can't lose the feeling that something is wrong. They are all neurological experts in the team and yes, all the tests they could perform on the rats have looked very promising so far and he usually doesn't doubt his own skills, but – why he? Why should he of all people all over the world working on a damn solution for this illness be the one _coincidentally_ finding one?

_Because of your father_, Mark said somehow cynically when he'd asked almost the same thing about Addison and left their table in med school, leaving him sitting there alone, thinking about it. Karma. Juju.

_It's a beautiful day to save lives._

It's ridiculous. And even if there was a truth about it, there would be no reason why something like this should happen to him now, since he already got the compensation for his father, as Mark said, sitting in front of him.

"Watcha thinking?" she asks and he blinks, somewhat startled. They are in the cafeteria together at their table, eating crappy hospital food. According to Addison at least the salad is good, according to Mark one can't build muscles from that. He doesn't really miss anything when doesn't make time to have lunch with them.

"Nothing," he says simply, but his eyes wander right back to the little coffee stain on the table he's been staring at before. He feels the tip of his wife's Jimmy Choo stroking against his ankle and looks up again.

"Really? Nothing?"

"Hm-m," Derek nods with a smirk and lifts an eyebrow, making an unspoken suggestion. Addison wrinkles her nose, signing that she can't (she has to scrub in in twenty minutes), but appreciates the offer. Mark, who is sitting next to her and has been sitting next to her for far too often not to notice, leans back to peek under the table and throws them a mock-disapproving look.

"Oh come on, guys, there are interns here."

Derek rolls his eyes, gloating a little, and Addison lets out a dry chuckle and turns to Mark. "So? They are old enough to have sex with you."

He gives her a mischievous smile. "Shut up, Red," and she mouths "Ouch," and grins at him teasingly.

Derek's chair makes a nasty noise on the PVC floor coating as he pushes himself away from the table and picks up his half empty tray. This is getting too childish for him. "I'm gonna go check on my tumour-patient."

Addison sighs and he winks almost too hastily for her to see before he leaves the cafeteria. Then Mark pokes a finger into her side and she jumps automatically, forcing some nasty sounds out of her chair too.

"Don't be sad," he says while she rubs her side angrily.

"I'm not," she lies and knows that he knows but whatever. She stares to the swing doors Derek went through a minute ago and leans her shoulder slightly against Mark's. Out of a habit, he thinks. He's always there, his shoulder is always there. "Something is going on with him," she murmurs, while he tries to blind out her perfume and the smell of her conditioner in her hair. "But it can't be about the baby-thing, right? Do you think he's mad that I want to wait until after Christmas?"

Mark clears his throat, but doesn't get the hoarse out of his voice. "He's exhausted and it's very reasonable to wait until after Christmas, because now he probably wouldn't stand a chance to get you pregnant properly."

"Mark."

"What?"

"You're mean."

"You asked."

"Are you all right?" She suddenly gazes at him directly, brows furrowed, lips pursed.

He glances back for a second, then lets his eyes swift to his lunch again, because a bone-dry turkey sandwich from yesterday is easier to concentrate on than his best friend's beautiful wife and her adorable facial expressions.

"I'm gonna be 37 tomorrow, Addison, what else is new?"

She laughs surprised and he senses her hand on his back. He never rejects when Derek asks him to fill in for him, to be the other one on the booked table in some fancy restaurant, to be the other one on the couch in the brownstone when he can't make it home against his promise and knows that his wife has taken the afternoon off for him. Mark's spent more time with her within the past year than during all the years before and they've never not spent much time together. But there is a difference between the three of them and two of them and he wishes he would have known that earlier. Maybe then her shoulder wouldn't lean as automatically against his as her hand mock-sympathetically pats his back. Maybe his life would be less painful then.

"Come on, I'm 37, Derek is 37, what's the big deal? The interns won't care," she offers wittingly. "By the way, if there was a party or something would you want Archer there?"

He rolls his eyes at her. "Hey, I told Derek I'm just gonna go to a strip club and get hammered and ignore everything else about that day, all right? No surprise party or anything. Seriously."

She gets up, biting in a piece of carrot with a knowing grin and winks at him. "Just make sure you stop by at our house before going anywhere else."

XXXXX

Of course Derek's tumour-patient is of little interest for him compared to where he really wants to go. But Hansen isn't there when he arrives at the lab, where he is supposed to meet him. It's Dr Petersen who glances up from his files instead.

"Shepherd," he nods politely and Derek nods back, "Petersen."

"You don't happen to know whether Dr Hansen is working today, do you?" Derek asks as casually as possible, but the other doctor doesn't even look up from his clipboard again and just shrugs.

"No, haven't seen him all day. Maybe something came up with his wife."

Derek swallows hard. "His wife?"

"She has Alzheimer's, you know, that's probably why he signed up for the trial. She used to be one of the top lawyers in this city. Tragic, very tragic," Petersen makes a flicking noise with his small lips, that are hidden under a very thick full beard. He's one of the older generations. "My cousin is a patient too. What about you, Shepherd? In this for personal reasons?" He finally lifts his small eyes.

"No," Derek just says, "I'm professionally interested, that's all."

"Well, you're young. Who knows how things might turn out. Maybe your work here will prevent a beloved one from suffering."

Derek nods, he doesn't know what to say to that, and turns around to leave the room.

"One moment, Shepherd, can you pass me the syringes I put on the third board there before you leave?" he points to the metallic cabinet to Derek's left.

"Of course."

He turns the small key in the lock and opens the cabinet with a jarring noise, as if someone was scratching with a fork on a plate and clears his throat. "How many do you need?"

"All twenty."

"Excuse me? There are only eight here..." Derek's voice drops and Petersen is standing next to him in an instant.

"Are you kidding me? I put a whole new unit in there two days ago!" He slams his gloved fist against the metallic doors and Derek is just quick enough to pull his hand away, one second later and all his fingers would've been squeezed and broken.

"What do you mean, new unit?"

Petersen strives off his gloves ragingly and grabs the clipboard from the table. "Lindner's come across another virus in his researches, probably a more aggressive one that will make it impossible for all rats to develop antibodies."

"But we're not using the same rats as before, are we?"

"Of course not, Shepherd! We cannot pump another virus into them," he chuckles dryly. "Who knows what will come out of that."

Right.

Petersen pats Derek on the shoulder and pushes him to the side to be able to leave the room. "I think it's better to report that to the chief, who knows what kind of idiot took them. Stupid intern, I bet. In case of doubt it's always them."

Derek manages a weak grin as the other doctor passes by and slides down the cool wall. A thousand things are rushing through his head, but it feels like none of them is blood because his surroundings turn black and white and a dizzying sound in his ears tells him unmistakably that he is about to faint.

XXXXX

He tries to call Hansen five times and then again five times on his way to his stupid house in Queens. Nobody picks up, no one opens the door. He doesn't remember if Hansen has told him where his daughter lives, but if he has he doesn't remember the address anyway.

He urges himself not to kick the door in, guessing that it would be more painful than effective, and rests his forehead against the frosty window in the middle of the unresponsive wood. He should call the police. Addison would call the police. His mother would want to grant Hansen a chance to explain this first. And Mark - Mark wouldn't have gone after the light that night in the first place because there was a game on.

He sits down on one of the icy steps in front of the house, wincing a little as the cold gets through his jeans, and takes out his blackberry, dialling the saved number one more time and feeling incredibly stupid. He's slipped. One weak moment of humane understanding, because he knows what it feels like to lose someone too early and there is still a knot in his throat every time he realizes that the only grandfather his kids will know will be the Captain, a man who hasn't spoken to his own daughter in two years and doesn't even have the decency to leave his estate before he cheats on his wife with one of the housekeepers. He isn't sure if he could bear losing someone too early again and fighting against that – he gets it. But as a doctor he should have kept his distance. There is no excuse.

Hansen's voice comes through his ear after seven incredibly long waiting signals.

"Hello, this is Dr Harold Hansen. I'm not available right now. Please try again later or leave me a message after the signal."

It feels like the hundredth time Derek's heard that today, but it's the first time he decides for the latter.

"Hansen, this is Derek Shepherd. Twelve other syringes are missing from the lab and I assume we both know who did that. Listen, you fucking idiot! These injections you stole contain another virus! Do not under any circumstances treat your wife with them, you hear me? And call me back as soon as you hear this or I'm calling the police."

XXXXX

Mark touches on Addison's shoulder as he hears the keys turn in the lock. She is lying with her head in his lap and it wasn't supposed to be this way today, but then her call came and he noticed the quivering in her voice, because something is going on with Derek and she thinks it's her fault. She always thinks that. So he came over. Again. And now there are wet mascara stains on his shirt and auburn strands between his fingers and everything else is just more broken than before.

She opens her swollen lids and straightens up, hands wiping over the mascara under her eyes and on her cheeks, and blows her nose in one of the crinkly hankies on the couch table. The other ones disappear into the pockets of Derek's sweatpants she's wearing, as if it was a crime to cry when you're unhappy.

However, when Derek comes into the room they're both somewhat taken aback. The corners of his nose are reddish, more than usual in this season or in general, his eyes overly reflecting the dim light of the room, his hair tousled as if he's just woken up from hibernation.

Addison clears her throat, her voice still nasal, her eyes fixing her husband critically. "Honey, did you cry?" It's a rhetorical question rather than anything else, but Mark decides to keep his comment for himself.

Derek lifts his gaze and almost glares at her and Mark wonders if it's always this way lately, because then he would understand why Addison feels guilty all the time. Then Derek looks away again, concentrates on taking of his coat and just mutters, "Did you?" and Mark wants to get up, because this is too much for him. When they were happy he could at least tell himself that it was better this way.

But Addison is standing before him, shouting, "Derek!" in a manner that glues him to the couch and makes Derek turn to her again immediately.

"What the hell is going on with you? And don't say _nothing_, because I know you and I know there is something." Her voice becomes a little softer at the end and yet Derek's upper lip jitters like Mark's seen it many times before. When his mother didn't allow him to go fishing with his father because he was getting over a sinus infection, when he stood next to his mother and sisters at the funeral shaking people's hands and trying to be valorous, when he came to him after his first big fight with Addison and they didn't speak to each other for a week that seemed as long as a month, when he had to revive Amy.

Of course Addison's seen it before too, maybe even more often than him, who knows, and her hands are on Derek's cheeks in an instant, her eyes looking into his intensely. "Honey, what is going? You can tell me." She turns around shortly, glancing at Mark. "Or you can tell Mark. Or both of us."

Derek swallows hard and she adds with a painful seriousness and almost inaudible for Mark on the couch, "Please."

He buries his head in the crook of her neck then, the comfortable thing about having a tall wife is that you can actually do that, and takes a few deep breaths, his shoulders shuddering a little, his hands holding onto her tightly. Mark gets up from the couch carefully and grabs his leather jacket that is hanging over the armrest on his side. He has the feeling that he isn't needed any more and if it's important, as it seems to be, they will tell him anyway. Her eyes flicker up to him when he turns the knob of the heavy wooden front door, an unspoken _thank you_ he knows, then he slips out into the dark November night. His watch says it's 11:42 pm, not quite his birthday yet. He was born around lunchtime.

In the house Derek is still sobbing into her neck and she isn't even sure if he's heard Mark leave. But that's okay, she can handle it. His tears.

Her fingers run through his inky hair, that's always felt a little wirier than it looks or a little less silky than you'd expect, but still smooth, and after a while she feels his lips against her skin and she really doesn't want to encourage him, but she also doesn't protest when his hands slide to her thighs and lift her up and carry her to the couch where she sobbed into Mark's shirt half an hour ago.

He pulls up the tee she's wearing, the tee that's gotten too small for him since he's started lifting weights once in a while, kissing the warm skin he unravels and she lets him, although if it was the other way around he would insist that she talked to him, she knows that from experience. But she feels that he needs this and he hardly needs her for anything any more and even though it's not the best idea, her body is already too focused on what he does to stop him.

Half an hour later she finds herself lying cuddled against him on their too-expensive-to-mention Persian carpet, her head on his pumping chest, his tears and her sweat covering her skin. It was desperate and bittersweet somehow and she can't remember the last time they had fun-sex, but when his breathing's slowed down he clears his throat and she listens and that's the important thing.

He can't look at her as he explains, casts his eyes over the pattern of the carpet instead, too afraid what she might think of him as a doctor. But when he's finished it's his wife next to him, thoughtfully brushing her knuckles over his chest and kissing his armpit. Not a professional, just the woman he loves. Just Addie.

"It's never your fault to be human, Derek," she says and they call the police anonymously together.

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><p><strong><em>Reviews are greatly appreciated:)<em>**


	5. Chapter 4: Trying

**A/N:** Hey y'all! So the next chapter... It's the longest one yet and still not as informative as I had in mind, but I'm in this for the long run and I hope you are too:) Thanks so much for the reviews so far, they make fingers fly over the keys as fast as possible:)

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><p><strong>Follow Me Back Into The Sun<strong>

**- Chapter 4: Trying -**

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><p>"What are you doing?" he asks as he comes downstairs, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly and glancing at the clock on the microwave. 7:48 am. The colon blinks neon green with every passing second. He counts six, then the digital eight loses a bar and becomes a nine.<p>

She's standing at the stove in his tee and his sweatpants, the same outfit she wore yesterday when he got home, and stares at something that looks remotely like it's gonna be a pancake in its next life.

"I'm making breakfast," she says without the enthusiasm that's usually in her voice when she does something she's never done or at least not in a long time. Like making breakfast. It's weird seeing her like this and if he wasn't so physically and emotionally run down, he would chuckle or make a comment or both.

"You haven't slept all night, so I thought you should at least have something to eat," she mumbles as he remains silent and it makes him feel guilty because he knows that she hasn't slept either, listening to his never ending rambling about how he should have acted differently and about Hansen being unworthy of his medical license, or moving involuntarily with him when he shifted from one side to the other on their mattress, unable to get comfortable.

The corners of his mouth twitch in a vain effort to smile at least halfway and he takes what's probably her cup of coffee from the counter, sipping on the lukewarm liquid drearily. "Addie, I really don't -"

She holds up a plastic bottle half filled with flour, which the label specifies as _Pancake Mix_, and manages a weak grin. "I can't do much wrong with this, right?"

He thinks that he's not quite sure about that, regarding the thing that's in their most of the time rudimentary pan, but whatever. Wiping a piece of dough off her nose as he passes, he pulls two plates out of the mat silver metallic cupboard next to her. It's a designer kitchen and it's actually ridiculous how much they've paid for it when they really only use the microwave somewhere near regularly.

She clears her throat. "Do you want me to call off the party tonight? I mean, it's not like Mark even wants it, he -"

"I thought you wanted to see Savvy?"

"Yes, I do, but – you know, I can just have coffee with her or something when both of us have time."

She lets the thing from the pan slip on his plate with a slapping sound and it's all a little too much for him. He just wants to scream _Stop it! _because even though he wouldn't deny that he likes it when things revolve around him from time to time, he can't handle this. He isn't a screw-up, that's Amy, and things don't have to change because of him, she doesn't have to be so careful and understanding and sacrificing. It wasn't her. She never makes mistakes like this one. She is a _natural_ as they say, born to save the newest of lives. He used to be proud and sometimes he still is, but today is not one of those days. Today he would like to be married to a freaking nurse, who can't possibly understand his situation and whose pancake-making is not a sign that she's worried about him, but just something she does everyday because of all the free time she has.

However, he holds it together. It's not Addison he's originally mad at and he knows it. He stuffs his mouth with a piece of pancake instead and takes a gulp of orange juice to get it down. She chuckles a little as she watches the scenario. "Oh, come on. I did everything exactly as the label says."

Now he has to smirk too, albeit knowing that it reaches his eyes only very slightly. "Sorry. It was a nice idea though."

She presses her lips together and Derek tips his fingers onto the black marble counter a few times before heading out of the kitchen. "I'm gonna check on some patients, but I will be back before they come," he says on his way, glad that he cannot see her face and that she doesn't comment.

XXXXX

Mark wakes up from a thoughtful trance rather than a tight sleep on Addison's futon couch that somehow found its way into his apartment after several fights over the brownstone's inner aesthetics, Derek's _lack of qualification to make any artistic judgements_ and Addison's _tendency to over-dramatize the emotional value of factually very ugly things_. It ended with him offering to take it, so it wouldn't be out of reach but far enough away to come to peace over the topic. Not that it looks especially good with the rest of _his_ furniture, but he does what he can do to contribute to the brownstone's harmoniousness. Always.

_Since when are you taking her side?_

_Dude, I'm not taking anyone's side. All I'm saying is that maybe you should listen to her to know what she's angry about._

_You've never dated someone for longer than a month. Don't tell me how to handle my wife!_

_I just miss the three of us, that's all._

It takes a few seconds until he realizes that it was not his pager that woke him and neither his alarm clock or a snoring woman from last night breathing her booze into his face. No. His apartment is completely free of any noise other than his skin screeching on the leather of the futon couch as he gets up, which can only mean what the kitchen calendar tells him. It's his birthday. There is nothing like the silence he's woken up to on this day since – well, since he can remember.

When he was younger he always imagined what it would be like to have as many sisters as Derek who would come into his room and rouse him with the smell of freshly baked marble cake and birthday candles and sing something very shrill, but very loving. Derek always offered that he could celebrate his birthday at the Shepherd's place, but it just never felt right. It's painful to be around people who take these things for granted, because you just know that they will never understand how much it means to you what they can have everyday. Family. Feeling appreciated, feeling loved. So he always preferred the silence to wake up to. And although at least some things have changed since then, he still needs this kind of bitterness in the morning of his birthday, that's why he usually takes the day off. Just something he owes to his self-loathing side.

Addison understands it. Derek accepts it.

He scuffles to his fashionable bathroom, kicks his boxers away and slips into the shower for as long as it takes for the mirror to be completely coated with steam. 37. A few more years and that will be it with his plans to die young and become a legend. But then again, he and Derek put the guitars away a long time ago anyway.

The melancholy swirls into the drain with the soapy water and a bit of toothpaste and when he finally gets out everything is just a little lighter than before. November mornings take time.

Nancy's card is the first he reads, grinning, because Nancy has never really changed. It's a shame that she's married to that slowpoke dentist of hers. She sends greetings from Kathleen of course, because Kathleen likes him but would never waste a card on him. Derek's mom sends her blessings and some selfmade cookies and of course he's always welcome to visit her even without Derek and Addison, who seem to be too busy anyway from what she's heard. Amy and Lauren haven't sent anything; Amy remembers only one birthday nobody can celebrate any more and Lauren cared about him only once in a moment of _pure loneliness_. Maybe that's what drives women to him in the first place.

His own mother sent an empty check for him to fill out and send back, nothing else, and he doesn't know when she decided to pick up this tradition to ask him for money on his birthday and he also doesn't know why he plays along with it so well, but he does generously. At least that means she isn't asking his father for anything. At least that's what he is telling himself.

Then his phone rings and he smiles as he reads the letters on the display. _Derek and Addison, home._ Addison said he should save them under _Shepherd, D&A_ or something now that they have the same name, because saving people under their last name is so much more organized. But he told her that he would have to change _Addison, work_ and _Addison, cell_ and _Derek and Addison, Hamptons_ and _Addison, Connecticut_ too and on all of his phones. She got his point then, but insisted that he deleted the Connecticut number immediately.

_Gosh, why do you still have that? I gave that to you back then when there were no cellphones, didn't I? All you can reach there is a housekeeper either terrified of my mother or screwed by my father or, most likely, both._

"Happy Birthday and welcome among us 37-year-olds," she says when he picks up and chuckles.

"Oh god, is it true? Do I really look old enough to join that club?"

"What is it with you plastics people? Only women get older, haven't you heard that?"

"That's not a plastics thing, Red. And women -" A familiar noise coming through the phone and then also from the bar that separates his kitchen from his lounge interrupts him.

"Oh Christ," she hisses and he knows it's bad even before he grabs his pager. So much for the day off.

"So, no surprise party after all, huh?" he concludes admittedly a little relieved. His stomach feels knotty though, when she doesn't enlarge on that and he hurries to get his things together.

XXXXX

_You don't know if he took them, maybe it was really just an intern._

_Maybe he hasn't drugged his wife with the new virus yet._

_Maybe... _

Derek hears them echoing in his head, his wife's fruitless attempts from last night, because he knows when she's lying and things never turn out in favour of good intentions. A mistake is a mistake and he will have to pay for it. Because if Hansen's wife dies their deal will be forgotten and they will lose their medical license together. No matter how he tries to play it out in his mind, the end is unchangeable.

_At least then we don't have to fight over cutting down hours when we have kids_, Addison joked, but it was a bad one and he turned to his side, so she could mumble her apology to his shoulder.

He took a long walk in the park before driving to the hospital and it's ironic, because the park is practically across the street from the brownstone and if she had looked out the right window she might have even seen him there not checking on any patients. He didn't intend to lie though, just needed some time alone, some time to think and evaluate, and then the park got into his view. It's such a waste that they don't go there often any more, not even during summer.

He thought about just going back home afterwards, without seeing his patients at all because really it's Sunday, his best friend's birthday and he has the day off and work was just the quickest excuse to leave the house that came to his mind, as always.

However, his pager got in the way and now he wishes he had an excuse for not being here, in the ER, where things can be as crazy as they want to because all he is capable to focus on is what Hansen will probably tell the police when they find him. Even if he doesn't accuse him of murdering his wife, the uncertainty of everything is enough for screwing up badly around here now and murdering someone else's wife. Perspiration drops run down his back. He hasn't been in the ER for quite a time, but he thinks that he has never seen it this chaotic. There have been at least two major accidents in the city, it's been sleeting the whole night until everything froze, and other people are brought in at what seems like one minute intervals.

He isn't surprised when the odd but somehow very fitting combination of auburn and salmon catches his eye for a short second before he rushes into the next trauma room. It seems like every single doctor was called in.

Mark's there twenty minutes later in the scrub room with him and it feels wrong to say _Happy Birthday_, because the patient behind the window is being wrapped into this certain kind of film by the nurses, so they just exchange nods before rushing through different doors to do everything they can for the next minutes and hours.

XXXXX

When Addison gets back to the ER from her third surgery she can't help but smile a little. It's clearing, the worst is over. There are these days especially in winter when you have to work like a machine, let the adopted doctor instincts take over instead of wasting time on too much thinking things through, because every lost second could result in a lost life.

It's terrible and terrifying, but then there is also this feeling afterwards, the highest you can possibly get without taking anything illegal or available only on prescription. She would never admit to how much she needs that once in a while.

"Dr Shepherd?"

Addison turns around on her heel in one elegant motion and she thinks it's weird that she feels sexy, because she must look like the bad kind of junkie, all circles under her eyes and wet strands peeking out from under her scrub-cap.

"Yeah?" She doesn't recognize the man facing her immediately. He's probably old enough to be her father and wears a scruffy looking beard.

"Dr Petersen. I'm working with your husband on the Alzheimer's trial. Excuse me if I'm wrong but I think we were introduced during last year's charity ball of the medical board?" He offers his hand and Addison's smile fades, but she hopes not too visibly.

"Right, I'm sorry, it's been a crazy day." She shakes his hand politely and swallows. She's a Forbes Montgomery, pretending is practically embedded in her genome, she can handle this.

"See?" he lets out a hearty, patronising laughter. "I never forget a pretty face."

Normally she would counter that she never forgets half-pensioners judging the female staff by their appearance, but now is not the time to be a badass representative of the women's movement. Not when her husband's career is at stake and not when this guy, as repugnant as he might be, probably already knows something important. So she throws him a tolerant, but discreetly warning fake-smile, one that could never fool Derek or Mark, but then again they have seen her too often in these kind of situations. It's still not easy being a lady-surgeon.

Petersen chuckles a bit more to himself and clears his throat. "I just wanted to inform your husband that," he moves a little closer and Addison hopes it's necessary, "the _lab_ has been closed today. There has been an – umm – incident, obviously, so -"

"I'm sorry, what kind of incident?"

"There has been an investigation today, but I'm afraid I'm not allowed to share any more details with people not privy to the matter. Your husband will be better off with a good lawyer, that's all I'm saying." He widens his eyes drastically, probably to underline the importance of this information. "We will all be better off with good lawyers."

Then he steps away again, reorienting to his patronising tone. "Anyway, I thought he should know and since I could only find his better half today – well, you're a smart girl, just tell your husband." With this he leaves and she's glad, because she knows she wouldn't be able to force that fake smile after what he's told her and after how he's told her that.

Trying to process, she slowly slides of her scrub-cap on her way to the locker-room, revealing a long, rather messy ponytail. There is no need to stay around for the rest, the ER is well within its limits again and too many cooks spoil the broth. If it wasn't for what Petersen has just told her, maybe she would decide differently, but now she has to find Derek.

It's Mark though who is standing shirtless at his locker, his back turned towards the door, when she comes in and she feels guilty immediately for forgetting that it's still his birthday even though she had to cancel the party hours ago, and then also for staring at him just a little too long for her own good. It's ridiculous, really, she's seen him like that countless times. Hell, for a very awkward drunk gaming moment she's even seen him naked. But that was back then when he was still Derek's annoying best friend rather than Mark to her. When Sam still gave her that look once in a while. When Amelia was still her pre-puberty sweet little self. The better you know people, the better you see them, or the closer you get to do justice to them. She's never noticed the two faint scars on the small of his back until now.

_Only once._

_Why do you think did he do that?_

_Why did Bizzy hit you?_

_What? I never... – What makes you think that she did?_

She clears her throat. "Hey."

"Hey, Red," he turns around and for a moment she's taken aback by the seriousness on his face. "Nothing like losing two patients on your birthday, huh?"

"I did tell you that there are worse ways to celebrate your birthday than a surprise party," she tries and scuffles to the upholstered bench to untie her Nikes.

He nods and grins a little. "You did."

She smiles carefully, but relieved, because it always scares her a little when he is serious like that. And it's good to know that at least one of them is still open to her efforts.

Mark casts his eyes away and she turns around, facing a pale, unshaven and sleep deprived version of her husband, but she knows better than to say something and guesses that she doesn't look that different from him either. Except for the unshaven part, obviously.

Derek hugs his best friend, the one without the rings, and it's still not perfect to say _Happy Birthday_, but he does it anyway. "Happy Birthday, man. You look good with 37."

"Honestly, that's not that hard standing next to you," Mark teases with more or less hidden concern and Addison throws him warning glance. Rolling his eyes at the other man, Derek sits down next to her, nudging her shoulder a little and pecking her cheek. "Ugh, what a day," he sighs and leans forward, propping his elbows up on his knees.

"I know." Her hand drives along his spine and he tilts his head to look at her warmly. She gazes back, not quite meeting his eyes, wondering whether she should tell him about her talk with Petersen now or just wait a little while, just be in this moment for a little while longer. Because it's a good one, nobody needs to rush somewhere, nobody is mad at anyone, nobody is absent in one way or another. Almost like old times.

"Hey," Derek whispers, "what is it?"

"Hmm?" She blinks and runs her fingers through his hair thoughtfully. "Nothing."

"What do you say we all go to the next bar and have a drink on me? We still have 45 minutes until this day is over and I'm definitely doing the strip thing next year." Mark smirks at both of them and somehow startles them out of something, but whatever. He raises a questioning eyebrow and Addison grins and shakes her head a little before getting up and to her locker.

"You are paying," Derek decides.

"Your present is still at the brownstone, you know," Addison teases suggestively.

"Not another futon couch, I hope," Mark counters and she chuckles and strikes out after him with her scrub-pants.

"You're so silly," Derek mumbles and Addison thinks it was the right decision to tell him later. There is nothing like nostalgia to keep the future waiting a little longer.

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><p><strong><em>Reviews are greatly appreciated!<em>**


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